Don Space Gibbon
by Rachbal
Summary: Bonnie's life was perfect, she had looks, money, and lots of adoring fans. But when she makes the mistake of insulting a former mentor and friend, her life comes crashing down around her. Disowned by her family and mistakenly married to an impoverished musician, Bonnie struggles to survive as she wanders from place to place. Bonnie must face the reality of who she should be.


**Don Space Gibbon **

**Prologue: First Dance**

The ball was in full swing, the music was captivating and the couples, in their finery, pranced around the room with varying levels of skill. Those that didn't dance were chatting filling the open air with sound left unclaimed by the orchestra despite communicating in hushed tones. It was all a very gay affair, so bubbly, cloying, and happy as it should be when celebrating six and half decades of peace. But despite the crowd and cheer pressing on his nerves, he felt gloomy and alone, once again the outsider.

Oh it was easy to spot him as an outsider. He wore a gaudy suit, made shimmering fabric in several bright colors so distracting many ball attendees declared a fear of blindness. Then there was the manner of its cut, which would have been more at home during the Second Age era of the Renaissance, poufy shoulders and breeches to name a few. Then there was his mask. Carefully crafted in the image of his own face from pure iridium and inlaid with several designs, it was easily the most expensive component of his ensemble.

And its weight made his neck muscles ache. He groaned softly as he rubbed his neck. He wanted to take it off, but protocol demanded that, as a son of the Doge of Vesta, he wear it at all times when in public and he was here to _make a good impression on the good people of Earth_. Humph! More like his father wanted him out of his sight, after all Vesta had an official ambassador to Earth who attended these types of functions. But here he was ordered to go and so here he came, a ridicules trapping on a pedestal for all to see.

_At least it helps distract my nerves from the throng's drone_, he thought, but recognized that it was his medication that actually allowed him to walk among so many without suffering a seizure. He just hoped that when he finally attended university that the ambassador would actually let him get some real good done and not just the incessant posturing the bloated air bag thought necessary. He'd even settled for some terran clothes.

Ambassador Bartormight was a man after his father's own ore, both were full of bluster and sword rattling. While he recognized the necessity of an occasional display of power, why his father, and Ambassador Bartormight by extension, were obsessed with continual posing with ever increasing noise volume as they did was beyond him. Personally he thought it was better to state your position clearly once or twice then follow through, as his mother had always taught him, and as much as he hated to admit it, his grandfather. Then again, his father was the Doge and he was just the spare son from the second wife, good enough to fill a room but not to advise.

Not that Bartormight was untouchable of course, he had an issue that if discovered could prove damaging. The question was when to confront him and exercise the exchange of silence for a favor. It couldn't be a small favor, no, too much had been spent procuring the information to waste of frivolous things. Certainly permission to access his mother's estate in Andorra would part of the favor, but it wasn't enough, it had to be accompanied by something more, what exactly he'd figure out later.

"There he is, just look at him..." He forced himself not to react to the whispers, in fact he nearly smiled. Terran naivety, because he wore a metallic mask with glowing sensor orbs, the people of earth seemed to associate him with their androids and often made gossiped well within earshot as if he wasn't there. That and he had very, very good hearing. The gossip he was eavesdropping on was among the more common remarks, the rude kind.

"What tacky colors, how does he stand to wear something so...ugly!" A second voice joined in.

"Ugh! I know, I'm not sure even burning that...suit...will be enough." Said a third voice.

"And did you hear about his feet?!" The first voice asked. "Disgusting!"

"I hear all Belters are that way." Agreed the third. " Apish Freaks!"

"I wonder if he sleeps in trees and eats bananas for breakfast!" The second tittered and the other two girls joined in.

He smiled inside his mask, before he would have frowned but hearing similar remarks for the last month had hardened him, in fact they helped to cultivate a streak of sardonic humor. If those girls were so _simulated_ by his presence perhaps they would like to dance. He turned in their direction and they immediately grew silent. As he approached them he noticed, to his satisfaction, that the three young ladies had each taken a step back. Though not much taller than the girls, his ample outfit had the advantage of making him appear larger and more imposing than he really was in truth.

He stepped to face the first of the ladies, she was no more than fourteen but already filling out nicely in her bronze gown. He bowed to her then straightened and offered his hand. "Dame," he used the honorific even though she was not from the Belt, "Honor me with a dance?"

The girl was speechless at first, an expression of bewilderment claimed her face as if his asking her to dance so soon after her mocking him behind his back was impossible. She regained her dignity. "No, thank you." To her credit she almost managed to keep scorn out of her voice.

"Really, well that's a shame," he put realistic disappointment into his voice, "I guess the Prince won't be dancing with you after all. And he was really looking forward to it." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" The girl called after him. He turned back the face her. "What..." she hesitated. "What do you mean Prince?"

"Why Prince Cheng of course," He replied, "The younger son of the Emperor, what did you think I meant?"

"Well I just, uh...I mean what did you mean by me dancing with the Prince?" Her voice and expression contained a hint of anxious anticipation, rather like a dog making eyes at a treat its master dangles before it. His concealed smile got wider. Yes he had judged her character well, a shallow bully with delusions of grandeur. She would lead her flock to mock him behind his back and would even deny him to his face, but when he held out such a juicy prize as Prince Cheng she would suddenly become very friendly.

"Well since I am new to Earth and the Prince is such an accommodating fellow, as the personal guest of the imperial family, he has offered to dance only with the ladies that I have danced with first." That wasn't exactly true, in reality Prince Cheng was a pompous, arrogant man-child, obsessed with his minor importance and no ambition. Most fortunate for the Eastern Commonwealth that he was not born the elder son and, barring some accident, would never be emperor.

However, despite the fact Cheng made for a classic younger scion destined for obscurity in the annuals of history, in this present, his title, good looks, and modest social graces made him the apple in the eye of every female below the age of 25. If their contest lay solely in that arena, Cheng would always come on top.

On the other hand, that arena was only the shadowed surface. While Cheng had looks and a title, he was as deprived of talent and intelligence as a spent mine shaft. Then there was the fact that his kingdom's economy was largely dependent on raw material from the Belt. Those two factors led to Chang always coming out on bottom in their confrontations.

The latest victory in tapping that excess pride out of Prince Cheng was the 'accommodating offer.' The idea came from yours truly, and hinted to the emperor. Thus far Cheng had danced only with two old dowagers and four, what were called "dog-faced," maidens. Poor girls weren't so bad, merely had their worst features exaggerated by the cruelty of young courtiers. But if the prince was going to partake in that, he might as well give the 'hounds' their day with a waltz in front of the entire Commonwealth.

Now looking at the pretty little doll with a classic court attitude smiling adoringly at him, he was faced with the decision again. Would he dance with her or not?

"Well, uh..." she began trying to think on feet. "Like the prince, I think it only appropriate to welcome such a honored guest. I accept your invitation." She curtsied.

"My invitation?" He asked. The girl shot him an annoyed expression before melting it back into an adoring smile.

"Yes, your invitation to dance." She reminded him. He watched her closely through their entire exchange, she was clearly full of herself with no compassion for those she deemed less fortunate. Case in point, she had no intention of dancing with him until she found out there was something very valuable to be gained. He made his decision.

"Oh that, I've changed my mind." He replied, relishing the sight of her jaw dropping. He turned away and approached a girl of comparable age, but sitting all alone at the edge of the dance floor. He had spied her out early on and kept an eye on her.

Despite being surrounded by several unattached young men throughout the evening not one was chivalrous enough to ask her to dance. She was a plump, short girl with a stout frame, not exactly the beauty he had been talking to a moment before. Still that was no reason why she couldn't be asked, if for nothing more than charity. Well if he was the only real gentleman in the entire building then so be it. He would do his duty and enjoy it.

The girl gave him a weary, yet anxious look as he approached, then her eyes lit up at his offer. They danced a number and she made good if too much conversation. At the end of the dance he walked her to Prince Cheng.

"Your Highness," he greeted with silky smoothness, "this young lady was gracious enough to dance with me." He motioned the girl forward. She was shivering, nervous about meeting the prince, but managed a decent curtsy. He continued, "It would please me if you would honor her with a dance."

The prince's jaw tightened, then he forced a smile as pleasant as a snarl. "Of course, anything to accommodate our esteemed guest." Prince Cheng gave the girl a short bow and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor.

He would probably try some method of shaming the girl, as a means of avenging himself, as he tried with each other assigned partner, but his older brother was keeping a close eye on him. If he did manage to insult one or all the women, his family would deal with him. After all, when one's economy is dependent on rare raw materials, it doesn't suit to grieve the son of the man on which you depend. Insulting the preferred dance partners of such an honored guest would certainly be taken as such a grievance.

He sighed.

It was all great entertainment, but with the whole evening filled with humbling the "mighty" Cheng, it had become somewhat stale. He decided to distance himself from the crowd for a breath of fresh air. He passed through the crowd toward the garden doors, stepping to his left and right to avoid the individual members of the idle throng. Once he had arrived the palace servants opened the doors to let him out into the summer night.

Fresh air! What a concept! Even after weeks on Earth, the idea of a world where your every breath was not the result a carefully calibrated machines was a foreign one. Oh, he had heard his mother talk about it in great detail so he knew what it be like, what it would smell like. Yet knowing and understanding were different things and knowing certainly had not prepared him for the wealth of sensation.

Still the smells and shifting breezes bewildered him every time him removed his mask, would he ever get use to it? And yet, those same sensations stirred some in him, made him feel relieved of a burden he never knew he had. Despite the less than warm greeting the citizens of this world had given him, the planet itself seemed to welcome him as a long lost, foreign grandmother. Bizarre, alien, yet he could not mistake the cord of kinship with this world, as a boy could not mistake the loving touch of that long lost grandmother.

He craved that touch again. As he walked through the gardens he looked around. It was dark, but he didn't see anyone and his nerves had quieted down, so there probably wasn't anyone nearby. It was strict social protocol for a belter on business never to remove his mask outside of his personal chambers, should he risk a lecture from Big Mouth Bartormight for a moment of freedom? After deliberating for a moment he decided to chance it.

He heard the auto seal break to his verbal command. He pulled the mask off and at once felt free. The weight was off his neck and that vaunted fresh air was filling his nostrils, he felt like stretching and lying down...

He heard something, better someone. Cursing his luck, he quickly replaced his mask. Big Mouth Bartormight's bark may be worse than his bite, but he had a nasty bark, one which became even worse in the event when the face of the doge's son was exposed to an unapproved person. Best to avoid it, and fortunately it was dark.

He was about to walk away to find privacy, but stopped. The sound he heard was...crying. It was a woman, he could tell and obviously she was in distress. He couldn't walk away from that, it wasn't how he was brought up, so he walked toward her.

She was behind a bush, sprawled across a stone bench. She lay on her left side with her right arm covering her face slowing rocking back and forth, her whimpering occasionally peaking into a wail.

_She should wail_, he thought in spite of the pity he felt, _wearing a gown like that!_ It was a gaudy lime green color with sickly yellow lace, here and there, everywhere it seemed. And it was absurdly large, it would have covered the bench like a tablecloth if not for the twisted wire frame that supported it. On her feet were impractically high and must be painful stiletto heels. With a little bashfulness he turned his gaze away when he realized his approach allowed him a view up her shirt and he could see her undergarments.

He circled around to the head of the bench, she made no notice, unable to hear his footfalls over her mumbling. Once he reached his destination, he was pleased to see that her head left just enough room on the bench for him to sit down. As he seated himself, the woman still gave him no sign that she noticed him, it gave him time to debate whether to announce his presence by clearing his throat or maybe a comforting hand on her head.

With another moan panging his heart he almost did stroke her unruly blond hair, but pulled it back. He may his mother's son but he was not her, besides touching a woman he didn't know so intimately was probably socially unacceptable. He decided to clear his throat instead.

"Ahem," he sounded, perhaps a little too loudly.

"Eep!" She squeaked with a jump and stumped off the bench landing ungracefully on her rear. As she struggled to find her footing she looked at him, giving him his first look at her.

She wasn't a woman, she was a girl! It was hard to tell with that dress. Trying to look past her badly applied and tear-streaked make-up, he judge her to be no older than fifteen. She also had a nasty case of acne that the make-up did a poor job hiding. Yet with those big, sky blue eyes, and emerging comely features she could be quite pretty.

She finally, with the aid of a convenient statue, caught her footing and rose slowly. Silently she stared at him, as if she was paralyzed with fear. He would be if he had been caught crying by a strange man he suddenly realized was sitting only centimeters from his head.

"Quite the ball," he observed coolly, allowing himself to almost sound bored. "There must be over ten thousand people in attendance. All packed in that one room. Despite its impressive size I felt rather claustrophobic. So I decided to step outside for, how do you Terrans put it 'fresh air?'

Silence returned. She seemed to take her time processing what he said. It was a realistic estimate of course, necessarily so, because it determined the dosage of his medication. He wondered, and not for the first time, what a terran like her would make of the 'condition' he inherited from his mother's line, if they knew the truth. Finally she answered.

"Uh, yes... that is how you would say it." She sounded almost as bad as she looked.

"I thought as much." He eased off the bench and strolled slowly towards her. He realized now how tall she was for her age. He guessed that even without her high-heels she would be almost as tall as he was. "Now the real question is why are you out here and not in there?"

"I uh..." She choked, cradling her arms tight as if to hold herself up. He would have to choose his words carefully, she was the exact opposite of the cerebrally inflated oafs he usually delighted in correcting. He studied her for a moment as he pondered_, should I be gentle and consoling or could he be a little more, direct?_

"Wait a minute, I see now! It is so obvious." He exclaimed as he placed his hands on his hips like a scolding father as he made his choice.

"You do?" The young woman quivered.

"Yes, you're not properly attired!" He stepped forward and grasped her right arm a gentle, yet firm grip and held her out at arm's length. "Let's see, a museum-showpiece dress," he began to walk around her, "no...coiffure, too much make-up, no jewelry, no gloves, and while those heels may be adequately "far out" for a fashion shoot, they are hardly proper dancing slippers!"

He could tell her cheeks burned at the remarks, blushing through her cosmetics. However, her embarrassment turned to anger in a flash, she narrowed her eyes, set her jaw, and returned remark with scathing remark.

She started by calling him a jerk and demanding who he thought he was, muscling in her life, telling her why she was here and how appalling her outfit was, as if he knew her at all! Besides, he was one to talk about style with his weird cut suit in those gaudy colors, ugh! Was the man dressed by an ape?!

Then she must have realized just how much she had said out loud. Shame made her blush again as she waited for him to retaliate with his own string of insults. Instead he chuckled.

"An ape?" He resumed chuckling, "that's very clever of you. I'll be sure _not _to pass your sentiments to my valet, he like most of my people are rather sensitive about such names." In response to his humor he saw the corner of her lips tug upward in a slight smile.

"You're not from around here?" She asked in return, he knew his use of the word 'terran' was very unusual and would declare his foreign nature.

"No I am not." He admitted.

He turned around and started walking out into the garden, then turned back. "Coming along?" She looked around as if unwilling to join him. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Not with this mask on anyway, and you already weathered my bark. I really am quite harmless. Trust me."

He extended his hand, beckoning her with the slight movements of his fingers. She tittered towards him on those ridicules heels, if for nothing else she would come with him because he offered her a ready crutch. Noting the wincing expressions she was trying to hide, he vowed to get her out of the heels as soon as it was respectably possible.

He took her hand, but before placing it on his arm, to walk through the garden he realized he was getting ahead of himself. "Ah, first, introductions?" He asked. "You tell me your name, I tell you mine? Agreed?"

"Uh, sure," she answered. "but you go first."

"Alright." He agreed. With a deep bow and a eloquent flourish with his free hand, he pronounced his identity. "I am Don Vastion Netherone, the spare son of His Most Serene Prince, Don Zander Netherone, recently elected Doge of Vesta, here on a mission of peace and goodwill to the peoples of the Earth."

When he looked back up at her, she was giving him a odd expression with a raised eye brow. It wasn't hard to guess what she was feeling. "Too pompous?!"

"Well, yeah. I guess..." she replied, "I mean, it's a nice title and all, but a little much for me. Not that you're too much, you're nice and..." She started to babble and he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I get the picture." He said. "So let's just skip ahead to the part where you tell me your name."

"Oh, yeah! Of course, I'm Bonnie, ah, I mean," she had to take a breath, "I'm Babette."

"Babette." He repeated. "Lovely name. French derived Nordic for 'Foreign' isn't it?"

"Yeah, if you say so." She agreed. "I think my parents picked it out of some book."

"I suppose it's a fitting name, at least to a non-terran like myself." He remarked as he gently pulled her along. "However, Bonnie I think fits you better. If I'm not mistaken, it is Scottish for 'Pretty.'"

"My mom's Scottish, started calling me her 'Bonnie lass,' when I was little, then 'Bonnie,'" Dolly replied. Then her mood darkened slightly. "Well, she use to."

"Use to?" He asked.

"She died a while ago." She confessed. "My dad hates that name."

The way she said it made him conclude that the name "Bonnie" unpleasantly reminded her father of her mother's absence. He debated whether mentioning his own mother's recent passing and less than sterling relationship with his father might seen as an intrusion or establish kinship. He decided just to listen.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He gently impressed her for more details. What she said rather astonished him. First Bonnie told him that she was a native of Marie Byrd Land, Antarctica, meaning her ancestors were among the self-exiled war criminals of the last World War. More fantastic was when she told him her surname was _Rekkrsmede_, leading him to conclude that she was the probable granddaughter of the noted creators of one of the war's most terrible weapons systems. An army of nearly unstoppable, berserker androids, Wolfram Combat Units. The fact that they were sold to all sides in the conflict meant no one looked kindly on the creators once the smoke cleared.

It was a skeleton that put his mother's family's to shame, although this shameful history was known and his mother's was not.

The family had been on hard times since. Force to abandon all their assets, they had escaped the tribunals and found sanctuary in the southern most continent. Since then the Rekkrsmede family had survived by working as technicians, mechanics, and guides to visiting scientists arriving on that frozen wasteland. They had also been suing the conglomerated governments unsuccessfully for restoration of their fortunes for sixty years.

Or so he had heard. The fact that, according to Bonnie, the family had recently moved back to Australia and she was now attending a very prestigious boarding school told him that their suit finally succeeded.

However, that didn't mean that Bonnie saw it as an improvement. Apparently as an only child, her father and grandparents were staking a lot on her reviving the family's good name. In the space of a year, she had gone from a poor, country girl, happily tinkering with her robotic teddy bear,Junior, to a high rise penthouse and the social maze that was Adelaide Preparatory Academy. This ball was just the latest in a series of failures over the last year to join the elite crowd.

He listened as she wove him the tales of the cruelties she suffered by fellow attendees and the lack of sympathy from her father and grandparents. She ended with the story of how she had been duped by Tabitha, the self-styled, rising queen bee of the school, into coming with her friends on a tour of the Eastern Commonwealth. Basically Bonnie served as the court fool, the vein of all their jokes. Giving her the dress, shoes, and makeover was the final, climatic humiliation. She had wanted to, in her words, "clobber them" but couldn't do so without tarnishing the family reputation further. So, she had fled to the gardens to be alone where he had found her. She just didn't know what to do now.

She was such a pitiable creature that it made his heart sing. Tearing down Cheng was amusing, but in the end a waste of his time. Here before him was a chance to take a rough stone and polish it into a prized gem! That was certainly worth the slag he had on Bartormight's sterling reputation. Oh, he could hardly wait the get started, but first, he had to get her out of those heels!

"Well first, take off those shoes." He directed as they stopped next to another bench. "I can't bear to see you suffer in them any longer." When she hesitated he repeated his command. He helped her sit and noted the expression of relief displayed on her face with satisfaction as the heels came off.

"Now give those to me." He ordered. She complied but stared in horror as he cast the abominable footwear as far as he could. There was a moment of silence after they disappeared into the darkness.

"What did you do that for!" Bonnie's cry broke the silence. "How am I going to walk out of here."

"On bare feet," he answered. "Believe me, it's better than what you were wearing. Now," he began as he sat down beside her. "I want you to be quiet for a moment, and just listen." She tried to saying something but he silenced her with a finger on her lips, and pointed to his hears. She obeyed and listened for a few moments. "Now tell me what do you hear?"

"I hear music, people talking, crickets...?" She replied.

"Good," he complimented her. "Now tell me, of all these sounds, which is the most essential to a ball?"

"The music?" She answered.

"Correct." He agreed. "Because a ball at its core is a dance, and as long as you can dance and dance well, you will always be appreciated at a ball."

"But my dress," she objected, "and what people say..."

"No," he cut her off, "we are not talking about fashion or conversation right now. Just dancing. Come on." He said as he rose from the bench and took her hand. He was right, she was nearly as tall as he was without her heels. "I am going to show you a few steps. Are you familiar with the waltz?"

"I have heard of it." Dolly replied. "But I don't how to do it."

"That's alright, better even." He explained. "Now I want you watch me do a simple set of steps." She watched him perform a very slow and simplified version of the waltz solo a few times. "Now, we'll do it together." He announced when he finished.

"I...I don't think I can do that." She stated, hesitantly.

"I know, that is why we're practicing." He replied, taking her hands and placing them in the appropriate positions and explaining a few details about foot placement and motion direction. He knew she wouldn't remember half of what he said, but it was a start. They ran through the movements several times, in stops and starts, as she got the hang of the motions. When he saw her becoming more confident, he ease them both closer to the ball room.

"You know what your problem is?" He asked frankly.

"What?" She asked in return.

"Your family," he pointed out. She started to dispute the fact, but he calmed her with a motion. "Let me explain, I'm not talking about your family history, as terrible as that is, I mean your father and grandparents as of right now. One year ago, you were living in the most deserted continent on Earth, with a robotic teddy bear as your only playmate. Now they have you to attend an exclusive private school filled the children of the elite and expect you to fit in, really? It's preposterous!"

"I guess so." She agreed

"Now, tell me truthfully," he went on. "Has your father, or your grandparents for that matter, been any more successful than you associating with the 'right people'?"

"Well, no, I mean I don't really know, I haven't see them in months and ..." she replied.

"I will tell you, they are not. If they expect you to simply become friends with the elite or at least a dependable shadow after the life you led, then they are delusional. I suspect that they are having as little success as you, and they take it out on the only person they can, Bonnie."

"Meaning me?" She asked.

"Exactly, I've seen it before," he confirmed and saw her countenance fall. "However, I have a solution. What you need is an instructor that can teach you the dance steps necessary to follow the music."

"I need to do more than dance." She pointed out bluntly.

"My dear, life is a dance," he explained. "A dance that changes tune from one moment to the next. If you want to join the elite circles, you have comprehend their music and know the steps to participate in the frolic. Understand?"

"Not really." She replied.

"Hmm, perhaps I spoke too literally about dancing. Very well, let's see,...dancing is merely a series of movements, usually involving two partners where the speed and rhythm of the steps match harmoniously with music. Much like how your bear, broken down, is just a series of servos, cables, and furry skin assembled according to some design. You understand that definition?"

"Yes," she sounded less than convinced, but he decided to press on anyway.

"Good. Now music is the design for dancing, its mood. If the music is fast the dance steps will also be quick, or if it is slow the dance with be slow. It would look rather odd if someone danced quickly when the pace of the music was slow. Or in terms of your bear, put his head where his left leg should be. Don't you agree?" She did and he went on.

"So like dancing and your bear, there are general designs or patterns to conversation and fashion. In fact one could argue that our outfits are as out of place as a fast paced tango would be with slower waltz music." She laughed a little at his jest. "What you need is a tutor teach you those patterns. Then with a little luck and some time, you will be accepted."

"And who do you suggest to teach me these 'dance moves'?" She asked sarcastically. "You?"

"I am available." He offered. "Not to mention qualified."

"Qualified?!" She laughed. "Wearing that?!"

"In my defense," he retorted indignantly, "I didn't select my wardrobe this evening. And even if I did I still wouldn't that far behind you."

She glanced quickly at her own dress. "Ok. I'll give you that. What's the catch? I can't believe you give something for nothing."

"You're learning from your experience with Miss. Tabitha!" He complimented. "Very good. Yes, there is something you can do for me. Currently I am touring the Earth as part of a goodwill mission and I'm in need of a companion. The Eastern Commonwealth is the first stop, but I still have eleven months and nineteen destinations ahead of me. I could use a worthwhile project to occupy my time."

"A project!" Bonnie cried and tried shove him back, however he held his ground. "So I'm just a project, a...hobby to pass the time!"

"I didn't say 'just a project,' I said a 'worthwhile project.'" He clarified. "What is the problem, don't you think you're worthwhile?"

Her anger foundered at that comment, and she took a moment to think. "How do I know you're not going make fun of me like Tabitha?"

"I give my word of honor, I will be a perfect gentleman." He pledged, but eye still eyed him skeptically. "Not enough? Very well, what token can I offer that will assure you of my sincerity?"

"Your mask." She answered.

"No." He said and she glared. He repeated his answer. "No, it cannot be my mask. Protocol demands that I have it on at all times while in public."

"Why?" She asked.

"It's part of my culture," he explained. "As a king wears a crown, a belter wears a mask."

"Ok," she conceded. "If I can't have your mask, then let me see you face."

He consider that for a moment. It was a major breach in protocol, but would it be worth the risk? "Done, but you can't tell anyone or the deal's off. It's against custom and if the Ambassador learns of it I will have to suffer through a night of vigorous lecturing from a master of oration."

"Alright, I promise." She replied. He gave the verbal command and heard the seal break. He pulled his mask off and look into her eyes for several second bare-faced. He didn't speak until the mask had been resealed.

"Disappointed?" He asked.

"No," she smiled. "Not really. In fact I wouldn't mind seeing your face again."

"My apologies, but the arraignment was for one view only." He stated. "You'll keep your side of the bargain, of course?"

"Yeah, sure." She confirmed, then looked a little distressed. "Oh! What am I thinking? My dad will never let me blow school off for a year just to see the world with some stranger!"

"Don't worry about him." He reassured her. "If your father and grandparents are as obsessed with social standing as you make them out to be, then I have an argument that they can't possibly refuse. I'll take care of everything in a few days. You just prepare yourself to wear a mask for the next eleven months."

"Wear a mask?!" She demanded. "Why would I do that?"

"Because as my companion, you will be representing Vesta. That means you are required to adhere to certain customs." He explained. "It's not as bad as it sounds. They are heavy but our masks are more comfortable than they appear and you won't have to wear them as often as I. Besides, there is an important side benefit to a mask."

"What?" Bonnie asked doubtingly.

"People won't know it is you under it. You can fail as many times as you have to and not fear for the family reputation, or your own for that matter." He pointed out. "Are you still interested?"

"Yes I am." She confessed. "But what will my mask look like? I'll get a say, won't I"

"Well of course you will! It will have to be gold though, since you're rich yet not a member of Vestal nobility, but that isn't an issue because gold matches your hair perfectly."

"Thanks!" She said.

"Your welcome!" He returned. "Now I think it's time for us to rejoin the ball." He said as the servants opened the doors to let them back in the ballroom.

"What? Wait!" She resisted, but too late he was already leading her onto the dance floor, amid the crowd. "No! They'll laugh at me!"

"Oh, let them laugh easy at you tonight, for when they see you next, laughter at your expense will not come so cheaply."


End file.
